


Lethal Ambition

by InterfaceLeader



Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VII
Genre: Action/Adventure, Drama, Friendship, Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-09
Updated: 2018-05-06
Packaged: 2019-04-20 16:55:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,573
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14265495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InterfaceLeader/pseuds/InterfaceLeader
Summary: The story of Rufus (encompassing many other Turks along the way).Also the story of the war with Wutai.Buckle up, I think it's going to be a long one.





	1. Chapter One

“The quarterly projections demonstrate that we can expect to see another 3.2% rise in profits, attributable to the number of people moving to Midgar from elsewhere…”

Rufus swallowed a yawn. Reeve’s presentation was the last, and the least exciting, being comprised entirely of dense graphs and blueprints. It was long past the time his nanny normally put him to bed, but his father had insisted he was old enough to start attending the board meetings.

“… It could be argued therefore that investing some of that surplus back into urban development, allowing us to house more people — or rate payers if you prefer — will be beneficial to the overall economic viability of the city. If you look at my proposed housing scheme…”

This time Rufus couldn’t stifle the yawn. His father, Heidegger and Scarlet all looked toward him and his father frowned.

“Heidegger, take Rufus to my office.” His father glanced at his watch. “It is, in fact, rather late. Reeve, hurry it along please.”

“Can Scarlet take me instead?” Rufus blurted out. He knew it was a mistake as soon as the words left his mouth. Heidegger glowered at him from across the table.

“Whoever,” his father said. Impatience in his voice. 

Scarlet rolled her eyes but slid to her feet.

Rufus jumped up and followed the blonde out of the room. Behind him, Reeve resumed his talk.

Rufus rubbed one hand across his eyes with a sigh. In front of him, Scarlet’s heels clicked sharply against the floor as she strode down the hall. She walked fast, and Rufus struggled to keep pace.

“So.” Scarlet said after they turned a corner and left the board room behind them. “What did Heidegger do to you?”

“Nothing,” Rufus said.

Scarlet sighed. For a moment she paused, and Rufus shifted his gaze from the spikes of her shoes up to her face. She was looking down at him, a crease between her eyebrows. Then, to Rufus’ shock, she knelt down beside him and placed one hand on his shoulder. From here, he could smell her perfume, exotic, with some sharp scent he couldn’t identify.

“Rufus,” she said. “What did that stupid oaf do to you?”

Rufus considered this. He didn’t know Scarlet well. She spent as little time with him as she could, despite him being the son of the President. What little he knew came from the board meetings he attended and the gossip his nanny indulged in. His nanny had an extremely low opinion of the board’s only female executive. But then his nanny had a very high opinion of Heidegger, so her opinion was of little worth.

“He hits me,” he said. And for a moment a flash of fear pulsed across him. Heidegger had told him to take the beatings like a man. Complaining about it didn’t feel manly. But he still carried the bruises from the last one, the dark purples having slowly faded to yellow.

Scarlet studied him. Her eyes were blue, but pale, as though the colour had been bleached in the sun. Then she smiled, red lips parting to show even white teeth.

“Ah. Well. Even Heidegger is not so stupid as to beat the President’s son except at the behest of the President.”

Rufus felt his stomach lurch. Of course. He had been stupid.

“How old are you now?” Scarlet ran her eyes up and down him, calculating. “Six?”

“Seven.”

“I see. Well, here is my advice to you, Rufus. Heidegger may be larger and stronger than you, but that’s no excuse.” She smiled again. “You’re old enough now to start building your power base. Make Heidegger fear you. Make him sweat every time he lays eyes on you. Make him remember each beating he has administered to you, and leave him quaking as he wonders what punishment awaits him.”

In a single movement, she rose back to her feet and began walking again. Rufus ran to catch her up. He reached the lift just as it slid open.

“Ah, Tseng.” Scarlet sounded pleased. “Perfect timing. Take Rufus to his father’s office. I’m no nursemaid, and I have things to do.”

Rufus looked past Scarlet and fascination caught him.

“Are you from Wutai?”

The boy in the lift frowned. “I will take him to the President’s office.”

Scarlet put a hand on Rufus’ shoulder and gave him a little push into the lift. Rufus heard her heels clattering away as the lift door slid closed.

He stared at the boy in the lift with unabashed curiosity. He had only seen Wutaians in films, and this boy did not look much like the ones in those — they all wore strange robes and had long fingernails and odd accents. And yet he did not look much like the people Rufus was surrounded with each day either.

Tseng was about fifteen or so, Rufus guessed. He wore a dark suit, and a tie with a tie clip. His hair had been pulled back into a sleek ponytail.

“Are you from Wutai?” Rufus pushed.

“I’m from Midgar.” Tseng shot Rufus a black look. “I have never been to Wutai.”

“You haven’t?” Disappointment curdled in Rufus. “You look a bit like one.”

The boy slid his keycard into the slot on the elevator and pushed the button for the top floor.

“Where in Midgar are you from?”

A pause. Then. “Sector two.”

Rufus nodded. Sector two was mainly commercial. Small shops, tailors, upmarket bakeries, restaurants, and here and there a strip mall. Most of the shopkeepers lived in flats above their shops.

Rufus tried to remember the lessons his father had given him about talking to new people. Ask them about themselves, his father had said. Pretend to be interested. Have sympathy with their problems. They’ll love you, if you just listen to them whine for thirty seconds.

“Do you like working for Shinra?” Rufus asked.

The boy looked at him again. He had a strange, wary air to him, unlike any Shinra manager Rufus had met before.

“Not particularly,” he said, after a moment. “But it’s better than the alternative.”

“Most people love working for Shinra,” Rufus said, a little annoyed.

“No, they don’t. They just tell you they do, because you’re Rufus Shinra.”

Rufus blinked. “My father says everyone loves working for Shinra. Before the company provided jobs, people had to work much harder for far less.”

Tseng shrugged and didn’t reply.

“Who are you?”

“Tseng.”

“I know that. I mean, what department do you work for?”

Tseng’s expression turned blank. “You don’t know?”

“How would I know? I just met you!”

Tseng tipped his head to one side, considering. “Administrative Research.”

“Oh.” Rufus watched the lights on each floor flicker as they passed it. “I thought you might work onsomething interesting, like the space program.”

“My job is very boring,” Tseng said. He sounded amused, though Rufus couldn’t work out why.

There were three Shinra guards outside the President’s office. None of them challenged Rufus or Tseng as they passed inside. Rufus headed straight for the back wall, where a small door led to a side room in which his father occasionally slept. He paused when he realised Tseng was looking around, scanning the windows and desk.

“You can go now,” Rufus said. Belatedly, he wondered how someone like Tseng could have a keycard that gave him access to the 70th floor. Only the board executives and a few members of the military had access to the top floors. Not fifteen year olds who worked in administrative research.

“Good night, Rufus Shinra.” Tseng gave him a nod and headed for the exit.

Rufus stood on tip toes to reach the handle of the door to the side room. He thought longingly of the cool sheets of the bed inside.

The door flew open, sending him staggering backwards. Behind it, a black-clad shadow launched itself at him. Rufus caught a few words of some clipped language, and then a ball of fire roared around him.

Rufus screamed, the heat scorching the back of his throat, as the flames ran across his clothes and skin.

He fell backwards as the fire winked out of existence. A shot rang out and then a second.

Rufus forced his eyes open, blinking away the tears. The shadowy figure standing over him was bleeding from one shoulder, the arm now limp and useless. The other arm held some curved, double-bladed weapon that flashed and glittered as the man flung it through the air. Rufus tracked it’s movement, saw Tseng on the other side of the office, gun raised. One shot. Two shots. The bladed weapon changed direction and buried itself into the floor with a screech of tortured metal.

And then the black-clad man leaped most of the distance of the office in a single spring, throwing himself upon the fifteen year old, his good arm knocking away the gun.

 _Where are the Guards?_ Rufus wondered. Fear seized him. The guards had been wearing their helmets. They could be anyone. That an intruder had been able to gain access to the President’s office meant some kind of internal conspiracy. The Guards must have been in on it.

Rufus pulled himself to his knees and scanned the room quickly. Tseng had driven a swift kick into the intruder’s stomach, sending him reeling back. Rufus made a dive for his fathers desk, yanked open the bottom right drawer. The sleek shape of the pistol lay atop a pile of paperwork. Rufus lifted it with both hands and aimed it at the intruder. His hands were shaking, and the gun was heavy. Impossible to aim properly.

The intruder threw himself on Tseng and drove the fifteen year old to the ground. Rufus saw Tseng bare his teeth and then suddenly the intruder went limp. Tseng’s hand came away from the man’s neck and Rufus saw the thin blade it held. Blood gushed, bright red, covering Tseng and soaking into the carpet.

Tseng pushed the intruder off him and rolled to his feet. He glanced towards Rufus, noted the gun, and sharply jerked his hand downwards. _Hide_. Rufus ducked behind the desk.

He heard the office door open, and three gunshots punctuated the air. Bang. Bang. Bang. He lifted his head cautiously, and saw Tseng closing the office door behind him.

“You’re burned,” the boy said. His expression calm, despite the blood soaked into his shirt and jacket. “Veld is on his way. He’ll have potions.”

Rufus didn’t know who Veld was, but he was reminded of the burns. He looked down at his hands, noted the angry red blisters that had sprung up. Pain and shock sucked the strength from his legs, and he found himself sitting on the floor.

“Careful now,” Tseng appeared beside him and took his father’s gun. One hand supporting Rufus, stopping him from collapsing completely.

“Who was that?” Rufus asked. His voice hoarse.

“I don’t know.” A shadow passed over Tseng’s features. “We’ll find out.”

“Who are you?” Rufus coughed. “Not administrative research.”

The office door opened and a man Rufus vaguely recognised from official functions appeared. Dark hair. Strong chin.

Then his head was being lifted and some bitter liquid forced into his mouth. He spluttered and then drank. Numbness flowed down his throat and the pain receded in waves. He closed his eyes.

“We’re Turks,” he heard Tseng say, as if from a great distance. “It’s our job to keep you safe.”

Oblivion took him.

 

* * *

 

“Sloppy work, Tseng.” Veld knelt by the crumpled body of the intruder, methodically going through every fold of clothing. “We could really have done with at least one of them left alive.”

“Yes sir.” Tseng had pulled the three bodies of the Shinra Guards inside the President’s office and was doing the same efficient body search.

“A mastered fire materia.” Veld held up the green orb to the light. “It’s a wonder the boy wasn’t killed. You do realise, Tseng, what would have happened if Rufus Shinra had died on your watch?”

“Yes sir.”

“You would have been executed. With great fanfare. What were you doing on the upper floors anyway?”

“I… I was visiting Ifalna.”

“By Shiva’s frozen tit.” Veld pinched the bridge of his nose. “So you were visiting our Ancients. And what… you ran into Scarlet?”

“Yes.” Tseng flicked through the Shinra Guard’s wallet. A keycard, money, an ID that proclaimed him to be Huey Gandarra, thirty two, 165 pounds.

“And Scarlet asked you to bring Rufus up here?”

“Yes.” There was something hard in the seam of the wallet. Tseng used his thumb to worry it. Something small, that had been stitched into the lining. Tseng took his knife and carefully slit the leather spine.

A tiny gold pin fell into his hand. A coiled snakelike dragon with glittering red eyes and a ball of red flame coming from its sharp-fanged mouth

“What’s that?” Veld leaned forward. Tseng held his hand out, the dragon cupped in his palm.

“Looks like one of those blasted Wute gods to me.” Veld’s shoulders slumped. “This will mean war, boy.”

 _War_. Tseng looked down at the tiny pin he held. An assassination attempt on the President’s son. The Company would retaliate. It had to.

But something about it didn’t sit right. He had watched the diplomatic talks with the Kiseragi family. It was true, they didn’t like Shinra nor the mako reactors the Company wanted to build on their land. But they had been treated to a tour of Shinra’s military facilities. They knew that the mako refinement process allowed Shinra to manufacture materia, whereas before it could only be stumbled upon if you were lucky. They had seen the Soldiers in combat training: stronger, faster, more powerful than any non-enhanced human.

Wutai had to know they were outmatched.

Unless…

“I think the man that attacked Rufus and me… he may have been enhanced.” Tseng looked up at Veld. “He was fast. Faster than me. And he jumped halfway across the office.”

“A renegade Solider?” Veld reached to the black ski mask the intruder had worn and pulled it over his head.

The two of them looked down into a Wutaian face. Veld shot Tseng a troubled look and then pulled up one eyelid.

The dark iris was overlaid with a greenish slick of colour that gleamed softly in the gloom of the office.

“Shit,” Veld said, quietly.


	2. Chapter Two

Rufus woke up in his own bed. He lay there for a few minutes, staring up at the ceiling, and then slowly raised his hands to look at them.

The skin was unblemished. No sign of the blistered burns from yesterday. He examined the rest of his body. The bruises Heidegger had given him had vanished. Even the scraped knee he had got two days ago had disappeared.

Like a magic eye picture coming into focus, he suddenly understood what his father had built.

His history tutor had told him about the time before the Shinra corporation existed. Before they had worked out the process of extracting Mako, potions had been as rare as chocobo teeth. Only in Mideel did enough raw Mako rise to the surface to be collected. The little town had guarded their recipe fiercely.

And then Shinra had come along.

Once Mako was on tap, everything was on tap. Materia. Magic.

Potions.

Rufus considered that for a while, curled up under the covers. He had known he was rich. But the other children he knew were also rich. He had known the Shinra corporation was powerful. But his school was filled with the sons and daughters of business magnates, politicians and nobility.

Everyone had always told him that the Shinra corporation had changed the world. And now he finally understood what they meant.

Rufus sighed and sat up, rubbing one hand across his eyes. Clean clothes were folded on a chair nearby, suggesting that his nanny was around somewhere. He pulled them on and then hurried out of the bedroom. He stopped short when he saw the man sitting on the chair in the hallway outside.

Veld. At first glance you might dismiss him as just another man in a suit, but look again and you saw the thin scar on his face, the callouses on his knuckles, and the way the suit stretched across his shoulders and tapered to a slim waist. No sign of a businessman’s paunch. 

“Good morning,” Rufus said.

“Good morning.” Veld considered him for a moment, and then a faint smile crooked the man’s face. “You survived your first assassination attempt. Congratulations are in order.”

Rufus narrowed his eyes. “Surely they were trying to kill my father?”

“Actually, all the evidence suggests it was aimed at you.”

“At _me_?”

“I’m afraid so.” Veld still wore that faint smile.

“Who was it?”

Veld tilted his head. “The Wutaians, it appears. Probably the Kisaragi family, they rule the roost. Though they’ll deny it, of course.”

“Why would they attack _me_?” Rufus shook his head. “I’ve never even met someone from Wutai.”

“A threat, perhaps. They keep themselves to themselves, the Wutes, but they must’ve seen how the world beyond their island is changing.” Veld rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “We’re about to resume trade negotiations with them. They may have been trying to make us afraid.”

“What did my father say?” Rufus asked.

“That it’s time my team started keeping a better eye on you.” Veld stood then, and extended one hand. “I don’t believe we’ve been properly introduced. I’m Veld. Head of the Department of Administrative Research.”

“The Turks,” Rufus said, as he shook Veld’s hand. 

Veld smiled. “You don’t miss much, do you? Yes, we’re known as the Turks to some. You’ll be getting to know us a little better over the coming months.”

Rufus didn’t know what to say to that.

“Well.” Veld looked up and down the hallway. “I think your nanny went to sort out breakfast. Let’s go join her, shall we?”

 

* * *

 

It took a few days before Rufus got used to having a dark-suited shadow. Veld did not return after that first meeting, but another of his Turks was never far away.

A young man with orange hair, his face marked with smile lines, who, when Rufus asked his name, laughed and said “Just call me Ifrit’s gift to women.” An older woman, who spoke little and spent her downtime taking her two pistols apart and cleaning them out. When Rufus asked her what the previous Turk had meant she just rolled her eyes. A young man with thin-framed glasses who wore a long sword slung across his back. Tseng appeared once, to accompany Rufus to school, but refused to be drawn on questions about the assassin he had killed.

None of them looked much like a bodyguard, which led to the other children at Rufus’ school teasing him. “What’s the matter, Ruffie, your old man can’t afford anyone to protect you except teenagers and old women? He just scrape the first homeless people he saw off the street and put them in a suit?”

One of his fellow school attendees, a daughter of one of the many Midgarian families who had gotten rich from selling land to Shinra, also gained a bodyguard; a broad shouldered, muscular man with a tattoo on his face. Rufus knew that he was meant to feel slighted, embarrassed by the far less dangerous looking people who shadowed him.

But he didn’t. If anything he felt vaguely smug, knowing that his bodyguards were not just for show.

It changed some things though. His nanny stopped gossiping about the executives. She didn’t stop talking — she’d never been able to be quiet for long — but she studiously avoided mentioning anything to do with Shinra, and instead told Rufus about her family back in Gongaga. She had a sprawling array of siblings, cousins, in-laws, nephews, nieces and grandparents, far more than Rufus thought feasible, and they seemed to be continuously falling out with each other.

The other change was more welcome. Heidegger stopped coming to ‘babysit’ on nights when his father worked late. It meant Rufus no longer had to endure the systematic beatings that, Heidegger had assured him, were meant to ensure he didn’t ‘grow up into some spoiled Nancy boy who would fall over if he got hit by a strong breeze’.

By the end of the first week they settled into routine. Rufus no longer felt a jolt each time he emerged in the morning to see the figure in the chair outside his room, and his school mates forgot about the quiet people that sat in the back of the room each day.

In the second week, Veld returned to tell him that Wutai had received Shinra’s missive requesting a meeting, and had agreed. The date was set for a month hence, at Junon. “The President wants you there,” Veld said. “He thinks it will lend the meeting a certain… _pathos_.”

After that, Rufus set himself to learning as much about Wutai as he could.

It turned out there wasn’t a lot to learn.

Wutai had been officially discovered some three hundred years ago by an explorer from Cosmo Canyon, but since then they had refused to let any foreigners enter the country. The Kisaragi family conducted all the negotiations, usually from the deck of their boats, but claimed it was on behalf of someone they referred to as Tsar. They worshipped a snake-like dragon called Leviathan. They launched no trade routes of their own, although occasionally a Wutaian ship would be spotted some distance off a coastline. They allowed trade ships into their waters, though refused to let any crew come to land. Main exports included rice, tea, spices, timber, steel, and silk. Main imports included chocolate, coffee, and, more recently, scientific equipment, rare breeds of chocobos, and some mako-powered electronics.

Other than that, everything was speculation. A pilot claimed to have flown across the country and seen a number of towns and cities built in a style unlike any other, a mix of sharply pointed layered roofs, onion-like domes, delicate towers, columns and bright colours. Someone else claimed to have landed on a distant beach and walked around, seeing mountains linked together with great suspension bridges painted gold, and people working in fields that stacked up the sides of mountains like stairs.

A few Wutaian people moved to the Western Continent to set up shops or restaurants which introduced the world to their sharply spiced, seafood dominated cuisine. But they were all reticent on the story of their home country and Wutai remained a mysterious, foreign place, surrounded by a swirl of rumours.

 

* * *

 

Godo Kisaragi sat in the crows nest, watching the horizon. The sea breeze carried a tang of salt and, more faintly, the sharp smell of mako. He could see dark tendrils of silt and rock dust beginning to swirl through the water as the ship pulled closer to the Shinra city.

A city? More of a monstrosity.

Junon hulked into view. A chaotic collection of scaffolding, hastily thrown together metal walkways, and, dominating it, the giant mako-powered mechanical drill that was grinding its way into the sea bed. Semi-permanent housing for the engineers and military personnel clung to the rocky cliffs.

“Leviathan guide me,” Godo murmured to himself, and then came to his feet and over the edge of the nest in one smooth motion. He bounced from rope to rope and somersaulted the last ten feet to land, cat-like, on the deck.

“Show off,” Chekov said from where he leaned against the side of the ship, and grinned to take the sting out of it.

Godo grinned back. The sea voyage had been good for him. A chance to meditate with nothing but the sound of the sea and the call of the gulls to distract him. He loved his new wife — Kasumi was beautiful, elegant and charming — but it had been nice to get away from the endless parties and soirees that she insisted on throwing.

They had taken the scenic route to Junon, taking their time sailing around the islands to the south, gawking from the safety of their ship at the ancient forests and jungles that had grown up on land still untouched by humans.

The crew shouted to each other, clipping the sails and slowing the ship until it came gently to rest by one of the metal latticework docks. A few people came out of their houses to watch, staring up at the great ship with its snarling serpentine figurehead.

“I think there are even more soldiers than last year,” Chekov said.

Godo had to agree. Blue uniforms were everywhere. Helicopters rumbled overhead, circling the ship and the city.

“Why do they persist in this sham?” Chekov stood straighter. “They can’t threaten us. They can’t buy us. Why don’t they realise that? Yet every year they insist on bringing us here and asking us if they can sell us their ridiculous machines or buy our land.”

“They don’t think like we do,” Godo said softly. A platoon of soldiers was marching towards them, faces hidden by the identical helmets they wore.

Chekov shook his head as the soldiers came to a halt in front of the ship and raised one eyebrow at Godo. “Do they think we’ll attack them from a single ship?”

“It is a display of power.” Godo’s lip curled. “They are immodest.”

“As if these soldiers could offer a match for the Dragon of Wutai.” Chekov laughed as he vaulted the railing and landed on the gangway. “Come, let’s get this over with.”

They were taken by the soldiers to the same building they had met with the President before. A more permanent structure than the canvas-and-sheet-metal dwellings that surrounded it, the Shinra headquarters was built from a bronzed metal. At four stories high it dwarfed the surrounding village, but still felt unimpressive, as it was in-turn dwarfed by the cliffs. The Shinra logo had been painted across the front of it, interrupted by a bank of wide windows that looked out across the bay. On the roof Godo could see three helicopters, two of a military style that bristled with guns.

“I would rather look upon Da Chao,” Chekov said quietly. “Than look out at that drill all day.”

The soldiers marched them through the front doors, and Godo noted the two red uniformed men standing across from each other in the hallway. These were two of the so called ‘SOLDIERS’, Shinra apparently having decided that capitalising the name made them more of a threat. He had watched them drill the last he was here. Six humans moving slightly faster than they might otherwise have done.

A display intended to strike fear into him. Godo resisted the urge to roll his eyes as he was hurried through a further set of doors and up a wide staircase. As though Wutaian warriors had not long ago learned the art of meditating in a sacred place and in turn receiving the gifts of speed and strength. A ritual kept for the most dedicated of warriors, those who had mastered all four styles of combat.

Finally, they were led into the meeting room. A large conference table, set up with jugs of water and glasses. A deep red carpet. The Shinra logo on one wall. And to their side the windows, with the mako drill beyond. Even here you could feel the faint reverberations as the drill worked.

“The President will be with you shortly,” one of the soldiers said, in the Midgarian language. Godo and Chekov took their seats, and the soldiers retreated to line the walls, rifles at the ready.

Shinra kept them waiting for over half an hour, and by the time they finally showed up Godo was quietly fuming.

The President entered first, wearing the dark red suit that had become his trademark. To his side strode a young boy. Behind the President were Scarlet and Heidegger. Godo had no idea why they showed up to every meeting. They rarely contributed anything useful.

“Godo Kisaragi. Chekov Aya. Allow me to introduce my son, Rufus.” The President placed his hand on the boy’s shoulder and pushed him forward.

Godo looked down at the little boy who held out one hand in the way of these people. Rufus did not look much like the half wild children Godo knew from Wutai, who spent most of their time clambering around Da Chao statue or swimming in the streams that cut through the city. He wore a tailored suit, spotlessly clean, and his gaze was direct and clear — oddly disconcerting in a boy so young.

“Rufus Shinra.” Godo took the boys hand and shook it.

“Do you have children, Kisaragi?” The President sank into his seat at the head of the table. Rufus took the chair to his right, Scarlet and Heidegger moved to his left. Behind him, Godo noted the two dark suited men who had silently taken up residence on each side of the door.

“I’m afraid I do not.” Godo resisted the urge to drum his fingers on the table. He hated this pompous man who sat opposite him, acting as though he ruled the world.

“Ah. Well, you won’t have experienced that moment of pride and joy when your son in brought into the world. As any father would no doubt tell you, it sharpens you up. You become determined to let nothing threaten that vulnerable little creature. And when something _does_ …” the President trailed off.

Godo looked toward Chekov, baffled.

“When something does your instinct is to crush it.” The President said finally, after it became clear that Godo was not going to break the silence.

“I can imagine,” Godo said. “Now, perhaps we could turn to the subject of trade tariffs, I’d like to—”

“Rufus was attacked two weeks ago. An assassin. One of your men, I believe, Godo Kisaragi.”

Godo felt the words die in his throat. He stared at the President in complete astonishment.

“You accuse us of attempted murder?” Chekov said, sounding as surprised as Godo felt.

“The evidence is quite damning, Mr. Chekov.” It was Scarlet who spoke next, leaning forward, her eyes gleaming. “He carried a marker of your snake God… what do you call him, Lev-than? And you are quite a _distinctive_ looking race, wouldn’t you say?”

The President suddenly threw something onto the table. “This very pin, Kisaragi! Found on the body of the man who tried to murder my seven year old son! And you stand there and deny this perfidy to my face?”

Godo looked at the pin, and felt a cold hand clench around his heart. _Itsumade_. The fire dragon. He looked at Chekov and saw the same consternation reflected in his face.

“Now. I would be well within my rights to have you shot on the spot,” The President leaned back in his chair. “However, instead you and your man will be detained here, and we will send message to-”

“You will do no such thing!” Godo exclaimed. “I am a prince of the House of Kisaragi, and I will not be _detained_ by the likes of you.”

“We appreciate your anger, President Shinra,” Chekov said, shooting Godo a warning glance. “But I can assure you that we had nothing to do with this crime.”

“It’s as likely you set this up to frame us!” Godo found himself standing, unable to lower his voice. Around the room the soldiers had lowered their rifles to point at him. “You want to use as bargaining chips don’t you? Have you not realised that Shinra will never get Wutaian land? We will not sell it to you and we will _not_ be threatened into giving it to you!”

“Oh please!” Scarlet was on her feet as well. “As though your backwater tribe could stop us from coming in and taking it!”

“You know nothing of Wutai or our defences,” Godo snarled.

“I know you travelled here on a _sailing_ ship,” Scarlet laughed derisively. “Have you learned nothing from your time here? We could crush you in a matter of days.”

A stillness passed through Godo. “You put great faith in your military,” he said quietly.

“Well, and why not? You’ve seen it.” Scarlet smiled and put a purr into her voice. “I know it’s never easy to admit when you’ve been outmatched before you even start, but you’re a smart man Kisaragi. Even you must see how quaint you look to us.”

Godo turned his back on them and walked to the window. He could feel the Shinra soldiers following his movement with their rifles.

Outside, the sea was choppy, spun into crazed waves by the motion of the giant drill that chopped at the sea bed. Godo let his eyes close and the silent prayer fill him.

 

* * *

 

Rufus watched Godo Kisaragi walk to the window. For a moment he seemed to stare at his reflection in the glass, then Rufus saw his eyes drift close.

His body became as insubstantial as smoke, before winking out of existence.

“What the—!” Scarlet exclaimed. A few of the Shinra Guards ran forward to where the man had been.

“The other one’s gone too,” his father said. Rufus could hear the anger in his voice. He glanced at him out of the corner of his eye, noting the flush of rage that had spread across his face.

“Sir! Ma’am!” One of the Shinra Guards gestured at the window. “The water!”

All of them were on their feet now. Rufus scrambled onto his chair to see where the Guard pointed. For a moment he couldn’t see anything wrong, and then suddenly he understood.

The sea was rising into the air.

Dragging higher and higher, impossibly high, as though pulled upwards by an invisible hook. A giant wave that cast a shadow across the city below, poised to break. Rufus could see the surf churning at its tip.

An inhuman shriek pierced the air. Rufus felt his heart hammering in his chest.

“What in Ifrit’s name is going on?” his father bellowed.

“Magic.” Scarlet said. “They… they must have some kind of materia.”

“We have to get you away from here.” Veld had come to his father’s side, and now he took his elbow. “We need to get you to the helicopter.”

“It’s just water,” his father said, pulling his elbow away. “They’re putting on a silly show.”

Again the shriek. Rufus clambered onto the table to get a better view of the window. For a moment he saw a shadow flickering in the wall of water, dark and twisting.

Then the creature thrust its head through the wage. A giant serpent, covered in iridescent scales that caught the light and flashed a thousand points of light.

It’s maw gaped wide to reveal row after row of serrated teeth.

“We move _now_.” Veld grabbed his father again and hustled him toward the door. This time he didn’t resist, and Scarlet and Heidegger were tight on his heels.

“Time to go, Rufus.” Tseng had appeared behind Rufus, and now he lifted him bodily off the chair on which he stood. Rufus twisted in his arms to continue to watch the window as Tseng ran toward the door, and so he saw the great serpent dive forward and seize the mako drill in one coil of its immense, twisting body.

Then they were running through the corridors and out onto the roof. The helicopter blades already roaring. His father clambering aboard. Rufus’ hair whipped around his face as he looked over Tseng’s shoulder at the panorama behind him.

The creature gazed down at them from a pair of flat, yellow, alien eyes.

At the same moment that Tseng’s hand closed around the ladder, the creature flung the drill straight at the building they stood on.

The helicopter jerked into the air. Tseng clung to the ladder with one hand and gripped Rufus tightly in his other arm. Rufus gaped as he watched the drill plough into the building below, glass and metal crashing together and ripping apart.

The wave broke.

“Hold tight!” Tseng yelled, his voice almost lost in the thunderous noise. The helicopter was climbing fast. Rufus clutched him, his hands gripping the rough fabric of Tseng’s suit. The wave passed mere inches below them, Rufus felt the _whoosh_ of its movement, he blinked salt spray from his eyes.

The place he had been standing moments ago vanished beneath the swirling vortex of water.

The great serpent coiled over and under itself and faded from view.

Far below, Rufus noted the white sails of the Wutaian ship unfurl, somehow unharmed despite the destruction that raged around it.

The ladder was being hauled up into the helicopter, and Tseng thrust Rufus upwards into the waiting hands of Veld. Veld pulled him inside, and Tseng followed him in, dragging the last of the ladder after him and slamming the door.

“I want a tail on that ship,” Scarlet was hunched over the helicopter controls, in the seat next to the pilot, her voice shrill with anger. “Anyone gets a shot at them, you take it, you hear me?”

The radio crackled in response. Rufus thought of the group of Shinra Guards who had remained in the meeting room and had, presumably, been crushed or swept away. He twisted in Veld’s grip. “Put me down!”

Veld set him down, and Rufus straightened his suit whilst he took in the scene. They stood in an open space, lined with two padded benches. Straps swung from the ceiling. At the front of the helicopter, two padded yellow seats held the pilot and Scarlet.

Next to him, Heidegger was pale, darting sideways glances at his father. His father sat on one of the padded benches. He had a slightly dazed look, as though he had just woken up from a bad dream.

Veld moved past Rufus to look down at the sea below.

“What was that, Veld?” his father rasped, sudden and loud.

Veld glanced back at them. His face was a perfectly composed mask, unreadable, inscrutable. Rufus wondered what it took to hide your emotions like that. He himself was flushed, and he could hear his own breath, ragged and fast. Deliberately, he tried to slow it, counting each breath in and out.

“It would appear to be the Wutaian water god, Leviathan.” Veld said.

“That’s not what I asked, and you know it.”

“A powerful magic. Of a type we haven’t seen before.”

“Does that mean _our_ gods are real?” Scarlet turned away from the helicopter control panel, glared at them all. “That these myths about Ifrit, Shiva and the like aren’t just old stories?”

“No a clue,” Veld said. “But I suppose it’s a possibility.”

“Who knew the bastards had a trick like that up their sleeve.” His father fell silent, frowning.

“We’ll wipe them out!” Scarlet jumped up from her seat and strode towards them. She had lost or discarded her heels at some point, and walked now in stocking feet. “We’ll burn their cities and string up their children.”

“No.” His father said quietly.

“They tried to kill us! They tried to kill Rufus-”

“We don’t know enough about them. They could have dozens of these blasted ‘gods’ for all we know. And who knows what other kinds of magic? No. We don’t risk going to war with them. Not until we know more. And not until we see how the results of the Jenova Project turn out.”

“The Jenova Project,” Scarlet said bitterly. “You put far too much faith in those children.”

“You’ve not managed to invent something yet that can so much as touch them,” his father replied. He leaned back against the helicopter wall, drumming his fingers on one knee. “No. They have… surprised us. We need to surprise them.”

Everyone fell silent. Rufus perched himself on the padded bench. This helicopter was very different to the one that had taken them to Junon. That had been smaller, containing 8 padded seats that faced each other. The floor carpeted, the lighting gentle, everything designed to lull you into forgetting that you were trapped in a machine flying miles above the ground.

This helicopter made no such attempts to disguise itself. You could feel the mechanical vibrations of the helicopter through every bare metal surface. The strap that swayed above his head was there to be grabbed in case the helicopter banked or climbed sharply. Rucksacks were clipped at intervals around the walls. Parachutes, Rufus guessed. This was a helicopter for the Shinra army, in case they needed to be dropped into enemy territory.

“So, we’re just going to let them get away with it.” Scarlet said, finally. She spun on her heel and marched back to the seat next to the pilot. Rufus half expected his father to lose his temper, but instead he leaned back against the wall behind him and closed his eyes.

“We need spies,” Heidegger said. He had regained some of his colour. “Veld, get some people into the capital.”

“Yes sir,” Veld said.

“I want that magic, Veld.” His father said. “Whatever it is, some new kind of materia perhaps, I want it.”

“Sir.”

Rufus narrowed his eyes as he considered the task that had been placed before Veld. Sneak spies into a closed country, infiltrate a foreign capital, and steal a powerful magic.

He couldn’t imagine how the man might go about accomplishing such a thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In theory this story should fit within the FF7 compilation timeline, but I'll confess that I did somewhat lose the will trying to decode it all, so if I make any obvious mistakes let me know. 
> 
> A couple of cameos here from Before Crisis Turks (although most of the BC Turks are, I think, too young at this point to be credible as Turks, let alone responsible for guarding the President's son... even given Shinra's history of hiring children!)


	3. Chapter Three

Tseng flipped swiftly through the newspaper. Typical Shinra propaganda, filled with gushing articles about the good work the company was doing. Puff pieces about sponsored orphanages, affordable housing, and the record breaking amount of investment Shinra was ploughing into ‘medical research’.

The articles weren’t what he was interested in, though he did pause briefly to scan the article about the recent ‘industrial accident’ at Junon. The journalist wrote that it had been caused by unusual weather patterns interfering with the drill electronics. Tseng wondered how that was better than admitting they had been attacked by Wutai. It made Shinra sound incompetent.

He took a sip from the cup of the watered down coffee they served in the staff canteen. He could have got a better coffee in the Turk break room, but he didn’t want the other Turks to see what he was doing. Not that it was a secret, exactly, but his feelings about the situation had become complicated. 

An advert for Costa del Sol caught his eye. All golden sands and blue skies. He tore it carefully out of the newspaper and put it to one side.

A few pages later he found a piece about the natural longevity of people who lived in Mideel. The spin on it was that Shinra were researching the benefits of Mako therapy in order to recreate the effects for ‘luxury Spas in Midgar’, but the article itself was illustrated with a picture of an older couple hiking through the verdant forests that surrounded the area. Tseng tore that picture out as well.

The rest of the paper had nothing else he wanted, comprising almost entirely of gossip about various well known celebrities.

Tseng scooped up his two photographs and headed for the elevator. He paused as a group of Shinra Guards poured out of the lift, laughing and giving each other high-fives. Shaking his head, he slipped past them and took the elevator they had vacated.

The labs were empty at this time of the evening, only the odd whimper of some poor creature left overnight to disturb the silence. Tseng went through the security door and into the cells beyond.

“Sir,” the Guard at the end of the hallway saluted. Only three Guards got assigned duty up here, and all three knew him well.

“At ease, Alaric.” Tseng said. “I’m here to see the Ancients.”

“Of course, sir.” Alaric waited patiently as Tseng used the security comm to swiftly switch the security camera in the far cell over to pre-recorded footage, and then led the way down the hallway.

They had knocked through the wall between two cells to create a larger space for Ifalna and her daughter and some effort had been made to make it habitable. A screen had been set up to hide the toilet, and someone had added shelves to one wall, that had slowly filled with second hand children’s books. The small niceties could not disguise the nature of where they lived however. The walls bare metal, the two narrow beds covered in only a thin grey blanket.

Ifalna sat on one bed, watching her daughter, who was running in circles around the cell with her arms outstretched.

The guard unlocked the door and Tseng went inside.

“Tseng!” the little girl exclaimed and bounced over. “I’m a phoenix! See?” She made a cawing noise and flapped her arms.

“And there was me expecting to see Aerith.” Tseng smiled down at the little girl. She was small and pale, her brown hair pulled into two plaits that framed the narrowness of her face. But despite that, she gave off a radiant glow.

“I wasn’t expecting to see you again so soon, Tseng.” Ifalna didn’t stand up. She too was pale and thin, and her head had been shaved close to the scalp. She had bruises along the inside of one arm, which worried Tseng. She normally healed faster than that. “It’s only been… a few weeks hasn’t it?”

“I brought some pictures for your wall,” Tseng said. He indicated the far wall, opposite the bed on which Ifalna sat slumped.

It had been Aerith’s idea originally. Ifalna had been curled up under the covers that day, barely able to move. Tseng had sat with her for hours, his hand in hers, as she trembled and twitched.

When Ifalna had finally spoken, it had been in a hoarse and broken voice. “She’ll never see the sun.”

Tseng had looked to where Aerith sat, watching them both with wide eyes. When she heard what her mother said she had come over timidly.

“Tseng can bring me a picture,” she had said.

So Tseng had brought her a postcard of a shining sun above the town of Kalm, along with tac to stick it to the wall. Aerith had put it above her bed. And every visit after that he brought another picture.

Now the entire wall above that bed was awash with colour. Postcards and clippings showed fields of wheat, mountain ranges, colourful chocobo running across grassy plains.

Tseng held out the two new pictures he had brought and Aerith seized them happily and ran to add them to the collage.

Ifalna watched her, her eyes slightly glazed. Tseng sat next to her.

“Do you remember the first time you came here?” Ifalna said suddenly.

Tseng glanced at her. “Yes.”

“You were so young.” Ifalna shook her head. “I felt sorry for you.”

“It was only a year ago.” Tseng refrained from pointing out she had been in no position to feel sorry for anyone.

“Only a year. I suppose you’re still young.” Ifalna heaved a sigh. “But I don’t feel sorry for you anymore.”

“Why not?”

Before Ifalna could reply, Aerith ran back to Tseng. “Who are the people in the forest? Are they your parents?”

Tseng laughed. “No. No, they are… just some people who live nearby and enjoy walking I suppose.”

“Do you know their names?”

“I don’t.”

“What do you think they are called?” Ifalna asked Aerith.

Aerith considered this for a moment. “Um.”

“Go look at the picture. Open your heart. Maybe they’ll tell you.”

Aerith nodded and ran back to her bed to study the picture.

“You could get her out of here,” Ifalna said softly.

“No. I can’t.”

“Shinra doesn’t need both of us.” Ifalna turned her head to him, her eyes wide. Tseng looked away. “She’s only four, Tseng. She’s a little girl. She deserves a chance.”

“It won’t be any better for her out there.”

“Are you sure?” Ifalna kept her voice low, but Tseng heard the anger in it. “You’ve seen what they do. Would you carry her to the specimen table, Tseng? Would you hold her down while they cut into her?”

“They won’t do that.” Tseng said, without much conviction.

“They’re keeping her in reserve for when I die.” Ifalna’s voice broke on a sob. “My little girl.”

“I have to go.” Tseng jumped to his feet, and headed for the door. He rapped sharply on it.

“Tseng?” Aerith turned to look at him and her face crumpled. “You’re leaving?”

“Sorry,” Tseng muttered. The door swung open and he stepped out into the cooler air of the hallway.

“Everything alright, sir?” Alaric let the door slam shut on Aerith’s pleading face.

“Yes.” Tseng straightened his tie. “Thank you.”

 

* * *

 

Rufus ate his breakfast while his nanny clattered around him, telling him about the letter she had received from her cousin Gertrude and how she had told her that boyfriend of hers was no good and just look at how things had turned out there.

Leota sat at the other end of the table, frowning over a notebook. Rufus knew what she was doing. She was doing what _all_ the Turks had started to do; attempt to learn Wutaian.

It was not, apparently, an easy language to learn.

“Gods,” Leota muttered as she stared at her notebook. “Guns are so much easier than this.”

“Can I see?” Rufus asked her, during one of his nanny’s brief pauses in conversation.

She pushed the notebook over. Rufus looked with interest at the foreign shapes of the letters. Someone had written the Midgarian phonemes next to them. _No word for ‘the’_ had been written at the top in Leota’s spiky handwriting. She had circled it, added exclamation marks, and underlined it twice.

Rufus flipped a page. Leota had painstakingly copied a sentence of Wutaian and was engaged in a slow process of translating it, first to phonetic Wutaian and then to Midgarian. There was a lot of crossing out. Rufus looked at the translation and flipped back to the letters on the first page. “These letters don’t match up?”

“No,” Leota said with a sigh. “Apparently each letter can represent a sound, a concept or can be combined with another letter to mean something completely different. How in Ifrit’s name anyone could be expected to learn this…”

“My language tutor says you need to hear a language to learn it properly.” Rufus pushed the notebook back across the table.

“Yeah, I get that. I mean, I know some Costan, some Icelandi, even a bit of that language they speak around Gongaga that sounds like someone swallowed a bag of marbles. All from going there and just, y’know, talking to people.” Leota grimaced. “But there’s nobody that speaks Wutaian.”

“There’s a Wutaian restaurant in Cosmo Canyon,” Rufus offered, as he turned back to his toast.

“Is there?” Leota looked at him for a moment. “Shinra doesn’t have much of a presence in Cosmo Canyon. How did _you_ know that?”

“Must’ve heard it somewhere,” Rufus said. He tore the crust off the toast and then tore it in half.

“I’ve been to Cosmo Canyon,” his nanny said. “I didn’t care for it myself. All that hippy nonsense. I was only passing through, mind.”

“Mm,” Rufus relapsed into silence as his nanny began telling him all the rumours about the elders of Cosmo Canyon and the Planet-worshipping cult they had set up.

Finally, she talked herself dry and took herself off to the other room to start on the housekeeping. Rufus looked towards at Leota again. She was studying her notebook, sucking the end of her pen, her forehead creased.

“Who’s Veld sending to Wutai?” Rufus asked as casually as he could. “Tseng?”

“No,” Leota said around her pen. “We don’t know enough about Wutai, anyone trying to pretend to be Wutaian would give themselves away instantly. Eat your breakfast, your father wants to see you at ten.”

“So… who then?”

Leota looked up. “Why are you so interested?”

“I saw the sea-serpent too,” Rufus said. “I want to know how it was done.”

“Hmm. Well, it’s Terel who’s going.”

“Terel?” Rufus thought of the lanky, laid-back, blonde Turk with the smattering of freckles across his nose. “He’s… very noticeable.”

“Yeah. That’s the point really. Why would we send such an obvious foreigner to be a spy?”

“Wouldn’t they just kill him?”

“Are you worried about him?” Leota raised an eyebrow. “He’ll love that. And we’ve got a plan. Don’t worry.”

“I’m not worried,” Rufus said. “And I can’t imagine what plan would save such an obvious foreigner who tries to enter an isolationist country like Wutai.”

“What’s this restaurant in Cosmo Canyon called, anyhow?” Leota changed the subject.

“Vkusno,” Rufus said. “Thomas, at school, went there for the summer.”

“To Cosmo Canyon? Why?”

“His mother’s an astronomer. I think they’re building an observatory out there. What _is_ the plan to stop Terel getting killed?”

“Classified,” Leota said. “An observatory at Cosmo Canyon? I wonder where they got the money for that…”

“Obviously it’s classified,” Rufus sat up straighter. “But I’m the son of the President, shouldn’t I be able to override that?”

Leota laughed. “Nice try. You can ask your father when you see him later.”

“Hmm.” Rufus slouched back down in his chair. “Will you teach me Wutaian?”

“Me? Sure. Once I learn it.”

“Show me how you’re translating the letters. I can help. I’m good at languages.”

Leota rolled her eyes. “Come over here then. But be warned, I barely understand what I’m doing.”

 

* * *

 

Nanhupai was a northern coastal town comprised mainly of fisherfolk and pearl divers, and the arrival of a Kisaragi ship into its small harbour caused quite a stir.

Godo found himself scanning the crowd as he made his way down the gangway. This was not a well defended town. He could see the pointed helmets of a few bogatyr that had settled here, but no samurai and no military. And the bogatyr looked on the older side, as though they had sought a peaceful retirement rather than a place to hone their fighting skills.

“Welcome Lord Godo.” The town registrar pushed through the crowd and swept into a deep bow as he approached. “Has your journey been prosperous?”

“I’m afraid not.” Godo returned the bow with a nod. “And I’m sorry to ask this of you, but can you loan me a messenger? I need to send a message to my father.”

“Of course.” The registrar straightened, his smile fading. “Come to my office, we have several messengers, and scrolls and ink. You must fill me in on the news.”

The registrar’s office was a one story, red wood building with a sharply angled tiled roof. It was built some way up one of the hills that sloped away from the sea, and commanded a good view of the harbour.

A gaggle of children sat around the entrance to the building, flipping through trading cards. Two of them wore the yellow sash of a messenger. They looked up as Godo passed them, but to them he was just another sailor.

Inside, the registrar showed him to a writing desk lined with paper and pens.

Godo hesitated before he wrote, trying to work out how to communicate the urgency of his message. Finally, he opted for simplicity.

_Father. We must prepare for war. It comes, if not today, then tomorrow._

He folded the letter and sealed it with a blob of wax. Then he returned to the front door and handed it to one of the messengers outside. “This must be delivered to my father, Hayate Kisaragi, first servant to the Tsar. He lives in the palace in Derev. Tell him it is from his son. Run fast.”

The boy’s eyes widened as he heard the name, but he took the scroll and sped off through the town.

“What happened?” The registrar had lost his polite overtones now. His grey eyes were narrowed.

“I…” Godo hesitated. How could he tell this town official that he had attacked the President of Shinra and summoned Leviathan himself to damage one of his towns? But if he had triggered an invasion, the coastal towns needed to be ready. “The negotiations with Shinra went poorly. There is the possibility they may send a military force… to ah, underscore their words.”

The registrar considered this silently.

Godo looked towards the town. Wide streets, gaily painted buildings, the clean smell of the sea. Shame curled in his stomach. He had acted impulsively. Chekov had said as much, on the journey back. And because of his impulsiveness, Nanhupai could find itself under attack.

Finally, the registrar cleared his throat. “You wrote to Derev to warn them of the war. Will they send warriors to the coastal towns?”

“I hope so,” Godo ran a hand through his hair. “But I do not know how long it will take.”

“No foreigner will set foot on Nanhupai soil.” The registrar’s voice was hard. “I pledge this to you, Godo Kisaragi, son of the first servant to the Tsar. May my life be forfeit should I fail.”

Godo turned to look at the registrar again. He had read him as a small-town official. On the shorter side, his black hair shot through with grey. His clothes were simple robes, worn at the elbows. Looking more closely, however, Godo noted the straight back and sharp grey eyes. The clothes were worn, but every seam had been pressed to a clean line. 

“I am grateful,” Godo said. “And I may be over cautious. It may not come to anything.”

“But if it does, we will be ready.”

He had underestimated this official, Godo thought. And he had lacked empathy in his dealings with the President. Yes, President Shinra had insulted him, but if the man had truly believed that they were behind an attack on his son, he was justified in his anger.

And that reminded Godo of the other piece of this mystery. _Itsumade_. The dragon pin that had been supposedly found on the assassin.

“I must make a journey to Da Chao, registrar. Is there anywhere in town where I can buy or rent a chocobo?”

“I will give you my own,” the registrar said without hesitation. “I ask only that you think gladly of Nanhupai in the future.”

Godo bowed his head. “Wutai is lucky to have servants such as yourself. I will remember your aid.”

“Let me prepare provisions for the journey. It is three days ride from here. Take yourself to the bathhouse, Lord Godo, and be refreshed. I will personally make sure you have everything you need.”

“You are too kind,” Godo said. “I will accept your offer.”

 

* * *

 

_On the winter sea_

_Sea gulls float_

_Like fallen leaves_

Leota and Rufus considered the translation in silence.

“Well. That was a waste of time.” Leota flipped the notebook closed and tucked it away somewhere in her suit. “Enough of this. Your father is expecting you at ten.”

Rufus grimaced, but slid down from his seat obediently.

His father had sent a car for him. Leota slid into the front passenger seat, leaving Rufus to take the back seat by himself. He stared through the tinted windows - bullet proof - and watched the buildings of Midgar flicker past.

The greatest city in the world. Or so they said.

They passed the new theatre that had been built to showcase the latest production of _Loveless_. It was rumoured that production costs had reached the hundreds of thousands, but the gamble had paid off, and the show was sold out for months. A queue of people lined up outside the door, their faces alight with anticipation.

All along the street flyers advertised other performances. You could see anything here; comedy, tragedy, satire, drama. Tucked in between the theatre buildings were restaurants serving everything from Nibelian dragon ribs to the spicy curries of Cosmo Canyon.

Somewhere below them, hidden away by the metal foundations and crawling tunnels, lay the slums. Rufus had never been there, and try as he might he had never been able to imagine what they might look like. 

They passed through the plazas and shopping centres that dominated the centre of the city before the car pulled to a halt outside the front entrance of the Shinra building. Leota was out of the car in moments. She opened the door for Rufus, her eyes scanning the street.

Inside, a bright eyed secretary greeted them and swept them towards the elevators at the rear of the building. Floor 59 had been turned into a security checkpoint following the assassination attempt, but Rufus and Leota were recognised on sight and waved through to the elevators on the far side of the room.

Here, the secretary pressed the button for floor 68. Rufus steeled himself. He had never been to the science department, but he had seen Professor Hojo’s slides and knew roughly what to expect.

He wasn’t prepared for the smell. Like rotten meat and sweat, undercut by the smell of Mako. Rufus almost gagged until he saw his father, standing near the elevator door, hands clasped behind his back, waiting.

_This is a test._

Rufus swallowed his nausea and forced a smile to his face.

“Good morning, father.”

“Rufus.” His father nodded. “Thank you for joining me. Leota, you can wait here.”

Leota nodded, her own face expressionless.

His father turned and began to walk down the lab. Rufus fell into step behind him, his gaze drawn despite himself to the cages they passed. Animals of all shapes and sizes, huddled and miserable, shaved, scarred, some missing limbs, others half-starved, some retching, some scratching themselves, their skin scored with bloody claw marks. The stench of urine made his eyes burn. Rufus refused the shudder that threatened to run through him, forced himself to keep his smile fixed in place.

Professor Hojo waited for them in the main area of the labs, his arms folded. He looked over Rufus with a faintly disgusted air.

“This is a laboratory, not a playground.”

“He’s my son, and it’s time he saw a bit more of what this company does.” His father stood with his hands in his pockets, relaxed and expansive. 

“Just make sure he doesn’t touch anything. If he loses a finger, I’m keeping it.” Hojo turned his back on Rufus and gestured to the centre tank. “In the tank you can see a zenene that I am constructing.”

Rufus looked into the specimen tank and saw a skinny, almost skeletal, creature with heavy spikes pushed up from its spine and a mane of red fur that hung lankly around a snarling, bestial face. Two glowing yellow eyes were fixed upon them. The thing moved restlessly, pacing from one side of the tank to the other, its gaze never leaving theirs. Muscles twitched beneath pallid skin.

“It requires little in the way of maintenance,” Hojo said. “It’s body mass has been successfully reduced so it needs a smaller amount of calories to sustain it. A number of mako induced mutations has made it a more capable fighter, and it has an excellent sense of smell. I expect it will replace dogs as the preferred guard animal.”

“Hojo has systemised genetic editing techniques,” his father said. “He can take any animal and change its DNA. What do you think of that, Rufus?”

Rufus looked into the eyes of the zenene. Black pupils, slitted like a cats, almost lost in the flat yellow iris that surrounded them, glowing with some strange inner light. They had learned about DNA at school, his teacher explaining how the genes for his blonde hair had been handed down to him. “You can change the way an animal looks?”

“So much for the private education system.” Hojo expelled an irritated sigh through his nose. “I can change everything about an animal, boy. I can make a venomous snake harmless, or make a harmless rodent venomous. I can turn a heart into a brain and a brain into a weapon. I can rewrite a creature, piece by piece, until it becomes something entirely different.”

“Think that through, Rufus,” his father said, still genial. “What does it mean? For the company.”

“I guess… you could make creatures fit for a specific purpose. You could make chocobos stronger, for farmers. Or faster, for jockeys. You could make creatures that are good at tracking, or fighting, or… make animals that are better for food. And then you could sell them.”

“Spot on,” his father said, ignoring Hojo’s dismissive snort. “And how might we use this to get the upper hand with Wutai?”

“You could make fighting monsters.” Rufus said promptly.

“And what would a fighting monster look like?”

“Like that?” Rufus pointed at the zenene. It snarled, revealing razor sharp teeth.

“Are you deaf? I said that it would become a guard dog.” Hojo shuffled away from them, shaking his head.

“It’s not a bad guess,” his father said. “But wars require more than just teeth and claws. They require… well. Look around you, Rufus. Who is the top predator in this room?”

Rufus looked back at the cages behind him. None of the creatures were ones he recognised. There were strange white rabbit things, huddled together in the centre of their cage. Definitely not a top predator. In the cage next to that was a wolf, its fur coming out in patches, its teeth long, sharp and yellow. The next cage held an immense dragonfly like creature with iridescent wings, fluttering in a panicked way from corner to corner. Every now and then it spat flame, which flickered away into nothing when it hit the bars of the cage.

None of those were the right answer. Rufus looked the other way, to where Hojo stood next to the specimen tank, the zenene cowering away on the other side. Hojo pushed a button, and gas hissed. The zenene collapsed, its yellow eyes rolling back in its head.

“He is,” Rufus said.

His father nodded. “Him, me and you. Human beings, my boy. Ingenious, strategic, capable of considering both the distant goal and the immediate problem. We can out fight anything on this planet, given the right tools. And indeed, fighting isn’t the only thing we can do. We can threaten, negotiate, bribe, and lie. No creature, however strong, however poisonous, can match us.”

A robotic arm had emerged from the side of the tank and had rolled the zenene over to expose its belly. As Rufus watched, the robot arm unpacked itself like a pocket knife, exposing a scalpel, a syringe, and a butterfly needle attached to a hose that ran back along the inside of its metal arm.

“Only the Ancients had greater power than us,” his father’s voice had grown soft. “And they are on the verge of going extinct. Now we use their DNA to improve our own. We’re building the people of the future. Stronger, faster, smarter. People who…” his father tailed off, frowning. “People capable of going to places we couldn’t. Other worlds. Lands we know only from legend and myth.”

“We’re changing people? Like we change the animals?”

“People _are_ animals,” his father said, pulling a cigar from his pocket. “And we are not changing them, Rufus. We’re improving them.”

“Don’t smoke in here,” Hojo said, with some irritation. He stabbed a button. The robot arm descended on the creature and the scalpel made a neat incision into its belly. A winch pulled apart the flesh, revealing a confused muddle of purplish organs tinged here and there with green. There was, Rufus thought, a surprising lack of blood. He was aware that his stomach had rolled at the sight of the operation, but somehow — having dedicated himself to maintaining that faint, calm, distant smile — he was able to stand and watch.

“Have a look around,” his father said. “Ask Hojo any questions you have and tell Leota when you’re ready to leave. Remember, if you want to run this business some day, you have to understand every branch of it.”

His father headed for the exit, the cigar in one hand, his other fumbling for the lighter. Rufus watched him go and then looked back at the operation in progress. Without his father there, his smile slipped, and he felt the suffocating smell of blood press down on him.

He turned his back on Hojo and moved slowly through the room. The lab was big, with benches lining one wall and strange, complex machinery against another. Tall tubes that almost reached the ceiling were collected at one end of the lab, and Rufus paused to look at them. Big enough for a person, he thought. He wondered how you changed someone’s DNA. It existed in every cell in the body, or so his teacher had said.

He looked again towards Hojo, but the scientist had become completely absorbed in unravelling the zenene’s intestines, pulling them apart like some macabre bunting. Rufus felt his gorge rise, and headed swiftly back to the elevator. Leota stood with her hands in her pockets, watching Hojo. Her face was carefully blank, and Rufus wondered if behind the mask she felt the same revulsion he did.

“I want to go,” Rufus said.

Leota nodded and pressed the button for the elevator. If Hojo noticed them leave, he made no sign of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a hard chapter to write, and I'm not sure it entirely works. It feels a bit disjointed? 
> 
> What's interesting to me is that Wutai stand up to Shinra and Sephiroth etc. for about nine years which means they definitely had something going for them beyond just a sense of honour.


End file.
